Legacies
by Markath
Summary: This is my take on the question "What if...?" after S03E23. This is a Rinch story!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a Rinch story and dedicated to:

- _scully1138_ (without her help and encouragement and kindness this story would have not be written!)

- _Blue-Finch/TimelessDreamer2/SeveRemus/shibarifan01_ (whose "Rinch" admiration is highly contagious)

- _Mamahub/Blacktop and all the girls on the POI discussion forum_ who were kind enough to let me in their world

-_mithrel_ and _Wuchel1_ and _poi922_

for inspiring me to give up on commenting and starting to write!

Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from Person of Interest.

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**Chapter one: John**

He woke up in the middle of the night, exhausted again like an infinite loop. He couldn't tell what hurt the most: his heart aching from being alone, his body tired from too many sleepless nights, or his restless mind leaving him no peace.

Sighing, he got up from the king-size bed - the only luxury he allowed himself here - and went into the kitchen for some water. He was still not used to this little two-room-flat under the roof of an old house in Brooklyn. And though it was much more discreet and actually more to his taste, he somehow missed the windows of his old loft and the open space.

The loft he got as a present from Harold. And there it was again - the _hurt_. The _helplessness_.

For a moment John leaned on the sink and closed his eyes, remembering the last moment, the last look he had a chance to take of Harold and Bear, breaking inwardly to see them disappearing from his life, not being able to do _anything_.

He missed them both so much sometimes that the only way for him to survive this was...to run, to run until he was so spent that he could go back to work without his hands shaking. Knowing that it was the only cure for his longing to see Harold again - although not really acknowledging that fact precisely to spare himself even more hurt - he integrated the run into his daily routine.

It left him in better shape than the months before they had run from Samaritan. And it earned him a lot of admiring looks when he showed up in a t-shirt and blue jeans under a black apron to start his shift as a barista in the coffee shop around the corner. Looks of course that he ignored.

The coffee shop was old and very well-known in Brooklyn. A lot of customers came by in the morning, which left John without much time to ponder his life while working the busy early shift he always preferred - much to his manager's astonishment.

The owner of the coffee shop was an elderly woman named Tilda who had grown up around the corner and knew many of the people who frequented the café by name - and she was all hands-on. When not standing behind the counter she would always overlook her cafe and chat with the customers. Without her, the shop would probably not exist.

Though he was accustomed to slipping into different roles, John found that joining in with the team was not that easy. Brewing coffee was a simple task with the older Italian-imported machines, and he favored standing behind the counter and being separated from the other folks. That's where he differed a lot from the younger team who liked to stay in contact with the numerous guests.

But he was used to being on his feet for long periods of time and he never got tired of doing all the jobs - including cleaning and whatever else was asked of him - just as long as he wasn't required to handle the register or serve. And because of his hard work these wishes were quickly respected.

He gradually adjusted to his new life - running first in the morning, starting work with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands, and having so much to do that thinking was out of the question. When he started work early and had his afternoons free, he began spending time in the nearby Botanical Garden.

John realized that he had started earning a lot of questioning looks from Tilda. He had worked for her for over half a year with steadiness and stoicism and nothing threw him out of balance - not even some young college students who had made offensive comments to another customer - so she had no complaints about him. But she seemed to sense that there was much more behind his quiet face and silent behavior, though she had too much life experience to broach the topic as long as John himself had not brought it up.

John had been more than thankful for that. He was always very polite, always smiling just a tiny little bit (since Tilda counted much more than the female customers in her coffee shop!). He was always reserved and never crossed a line, just like the quiet before the storm.

But the storm came one day in form of a dog.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to _cheyennesunrise_ (for the "Finch-centric"!)

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**Chapter two: Harold**

He woke up in the middle of the night, exhausted again like an infinite loop. He couldn't tell what hurt the most: his heart aching from being alone, his body tired from too many sleepless nights, or his restless mind leaving him no peace.

Bear always licked his hand when he sensed that Harold was awake. He had felt so _alone_ in those first weeks that he had allowed the dog to stay in bed at his feet, and since then Bear had continued to stay there each night. Harold remembered the last look he had exchanged with John and he couldn't help but feel haunted by it. He knew how _hard_ it would be to be alone again, but he never figured on feeling _lonely_ like this.

Harold just laid there quietly for some minutes waiting for the pain to be over, and tried to get back to sleep. He had now been living his irrelevant life as a senior employee of a little art gallery in Staten Island for six months now, and he had adjusted to it very quickly. Harold always had a soft spot for all sorts of art and he was on good terms with his boss Catherine, an elderly woman who received enough financial support from her husband to manage the shop as a personal hobby. Tom, who picked her up every evening after work, came to friendly terms with him as well after realizing that Harold was in no way interested in Catherine. It felt good to have a chat with them after work from time to time in a bar or a restaurant, although Harold tried not to delve deeply into personal issues. And they were more than enthusiastic about Bear - who Harold brought to the shop every day - because he was such a well-behaved dog. Tom even added that he ensured the safety of the shop.

The consistency of every day walks to the shop with Bear, and of opening and welcoming customers helped him a lot in those days. Although he didn't return to his tailored three-piece suits, he came in corduroys and a vest and changed his glasses to small rimless spectacles. He always stayed polite and interested and proved to be quite a good art advisor, which earned him a lot of compliments from Catherine. But furthermore, he was silent and reserved so the others realized that all he wanted was to have some peace and quiet, and nobody bothered him with more personal questions. (And changing the topic to Bear was always a very good option!)

But Catherine saw the loneliness and the sadness that shimmered through him. She tried to give him a free afternoon once a week but Harold politely resisted. Then she changed tactics to Bear and asked him if he wouldn't like someone who would walk the dog so that he could relax a little bit more. Little did she know that for Harold the working hours were a deliberate and welcome distraction from the recent disasters with Samaritan and especially with Grace. Even the walks with Bear along the busy streets back to his small house helped. But he understood that Bear was desperate to run along with other dogs in a big park, so after a month he gave in to Catherine's advice and accepted her recommendation of a dog walker. Henry, a young college student, was more than happy to take Bear along with the three poodles and two Chihuahuas he already supervised, and he told Harold with great enthusiasm how pleasant it was to run with Bear through the park. He earned one of Harold's rare smiles and Catherine was happy that her suggestion had worked out so well. She realized that Bear meant a lot to his owner, although she sensed that the dog was not originally his in the first place.

The months went by and Harold came to like his routine and the very slow relief that came along with it. His paranoia stayed with him but he tried to accept this time as a recovery period that his battered body and soul really needed - he just couldn't get used to his strong feeling of loneliness. All the conversations were nothing in comparison to his simplest moments of understanding with John. He had lost a dedicated and loyal friend, the likes of which he had never known before. He missed him so much that he sometimes thought his heart would stop beating. And Bear was a constant reminder too of what he had truly lost - and had never told John. A longing for John overtook him step by step until he was not in control anymore, like a storm rising.

A storm that would be triggered by Bear.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to _crypticnotions_ who wanted to know more...

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**Chapter three: John (the beginning of the storm)**

John started his Friday like the Fridays before: running until he felt spent, having a quick shower and setting out for the cafe shortly before six o'clock. A little tired, he was happy with the cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hands. For one moment, he allowed himself to dream that Harold would enter the cafe and smile at him. How happy he would be if he only knew that he and Bear were alright. But it couldn't be - not until the Machine and Miss Groves came up with a plan. He had no idea how long that would take, how long he would have to stay in this new identity. But to be separated from _them_ was more he was sometimes able to bear.

He caught himself running his hand over the imported Italian coffee machine with its blinking chrome layer, and wishing it were Harold - remembering how good it felt as he tended to the shotgun-wound in his friend's right shoulder. He stopped abruptly, overwhelmed by his sudden longing for a touch, and realized that Tilda was standing next to him smiling.

"You're spoiling her! If you continue like that she won't make coffee anymore, at least not before you pet her again."

"Really." John shook his head with a light smile, and tried to put his other thoughts behind him.

"This is the first Friday of the month," she hesitated before continuing. "We - the team from the café and I - meet once a month at 8pm at the Rocket Bar in SoHo. Would you like to join us? I've wanted to ask you before but you haven't seemed very interested in socializing so I dropped the idea. I'm sure the others would be happy if you joined us. Please think about it."

She made her way back to decorate the tables with fresh flowers.

John shot a long look after her wondering what to do, but decided soon enough that just maybe

he should step up his social life. And if he was honest with himself, maybe by returning to Manhattan there would be a slight chance of running into Harold? So far he had avoided leaving Brooklyn so as not to risk his new life, and especially so as not to endanger the lives of Harold, Shaw and Root, and even Lionel for that matter.

But after closing the cafe at 6pm, he went home to prepare for the first social event of his new life. On this rare occasion, he wore a white button-down shirt to dress up his normal jeans. Because of the subway change he arrived about ten minutes late.

Upon entering the Rocket Bar a strange feeling accompanied him. How often had he spent hours in a bar watching people, watching their Numbers? And now?

Tilda, who had seen him arrive, waved him over to their table and spared him further thoughts.

The whole team was there: Tilda, Tim and Kate, who did most of the service, Brian and Jenny and Linda, who shared the register and service, and at last but not least Gina, who cleaned the cafe almost every day. They were engrossed in conversation, all having known each other for two years or longer, and at first John felt like the odd man out. But after a beer he was ready to join in the conversation, and they made him feel welcome.

Still it seemed strange to him to sit in a bar and talk with normal people, to do such a simple thing with no backgrounds to be explored, no victim or a perpetrator to be discovered. Nevertheless his senses were still on high alert. He had checked the possible exits and the way to the bathrooms, and he had counted the number of guests as well as the staff. His old habits had come home to roost, it seemed.

He relaxed slowly, comfortable with his beer and the company, content to overlook the circle of chatting, laughing friends. It felt like 'real life,' how he remembered the first year he shared with Harold and the Machine, living only for the numbers and getting to know each other.

Something that Tilda was saying catapulted him back from his drifting.

"...and you know, that dog stayed there until I closed the cafe. Yep, he just sat there in front of the door, whimpering the whole time and couldn't be pulled away by the young man. It was as if he was waiting for someone. It took another five minutes of begging to persuade the dog to follow the guy. Poor dear."

"What did the dog look like?"

John's sudden and unexpected question earned him the attention of the entire table.

Tilda stopped in the middle of her tale and turned bewildered towards John.

"You want to know about the dog?"

"Just curious."

Seeing the others' puzzled expressions John realized that he had overreacted, but he didn't mind. His heart told him that it could only have been Bear. But who was the young man?

A pang of joy, confusion and jealousy overran him he couldn't fight back.

"Back in a minute," he murmured to Tilda. He jumped up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. Where had his self-control gone?

It took only thirty seconds before Brian showed up, clearly uncomfortable.

"You okay?"

He looked in the mirror at John, who stood leaning against the basin with a wet face.

"Tilda sent me after you. You got us all worried."

John tried to smile back at him in the mirror.

"I know. Always the mother hen, right?"

Brian nodded, now smiling himself.

"I lost my father two years ago. You should have seen her with me."

He waited a moment, then added, "Take your time, but please return to our table, okay?"

And then he was gone.

John sighed. He knew he should feel honored that the people in his new life seemed to care.

If it had been Bear, was there a small chance that he might get to see Harold again? Bear would have sensed him there, of that he was sure. But when would the dog stop by the cafe again?

He took extra-shifts in order to stay in the cafe as long as possible, wanting every possible chance to _be_ _there_ when the young man with Bear showed up again.

The exhausted feeling came back and the nights without sleep doubled - and the use of coffee as well. One early morning he couldn't stop the shaking anymore so he showed up at the cafe's doorstep half an hour earlier to relax a little bit. The café had become his second home in the last weeks but his trembling hands barely let him put the key in the lock. Why did his body betray him just at this moment? All he needed right now was a cup of coffee to help him through the day.

No such luck because Tilda was there too, and she recognized at once the state he was in.

"Sit," she ordered him sharply. "No more denials."

He collapsed right there at the next table and didn't say a word. Desperation overtook him; the

chance of seeing Harold again diminished every day when Bear didn't show up.

"What's wrong with you?" Tilda just stood right in front of him.

"Nothing," John answered shortly.

She looked at him closely, and her expression changed slowly from anger to sadness.

John's first instinct was to bolt and leave the café - it would have been an easy thing for him to do. But then he decided to stay put. He didn't know why but in his confusion he knew he was better off here; he was certainly no use outside the café.

Tilda came back with a bottle of an old Irish whiskey and two glasses.

Not exactly what I need John thought, a little distraught.

While pouring the whiskey into the glasses, she asked him straight out: "Since the story about the dog you've been acting strangely. Care to explain?"

John averted his gaze. "Not really."

"Thought so," Tilda said dryly after toasting their glasses and taking a sip.

"Okay." Taking another look at him her expression softened. "You want to be as silent as the grave, that's fine. But as long as you work for me I want your concentration on the job and nothing else. Alright?"

John simply nodded. What else was there to say? He wanted so desperately out of this new life - wanted things to be the way they were before - but there was nothing that would change things back. He seemed to have been taught a hard lesson over and over again about losing the people dearest to him and not being able to do _anything_ about it.

Tilda's hand closed over his and brought him back to reality.

"Hey, want to know what I think?" She got his attention back.

"You lost someone close to your heart. And I don't know if it was your fault, or the other one's fault, or circumstances or whatever. But grief and despair shine right through you. And you seem to have nobody to talk to and take care of you. So - either you can take care of yourself or you can let me - us - the café do it.

If the dog shows up we will tell you at once. But please, no more extra-shifts. If you continue like this, with your self-destructive behavior, you get nothing. Understood?"

The intense eagerness behind her words brought a small smile to his face.

He didn't consider himself worth saving but it was clear that in Tilda's eyes he was.

"Tilda," he began.

She was enjoying her whiskey but he got her full attention.

"Thank you," he said softly. "It may not seem so to you but I am not as lost as you think. And I have survived more."

He caught another long gaze from her.

"I'm guessing that a lot has happened to you. It's definitely in your calmness - I mean as long as there's no discussion about a dog involved. But you have refrained from telling me _anything_ so far. Opening up is not such a dangerous thing to do, you know." Tilda grinned briefly.

"Now let's get back to work. You sure do need a cup of coffee and some breakfast because you look like hell."

John was feeling a little bit dizzy from the whiskey and just nodded, grateful for Tilda's sympathy. His hands had stopped trembling and he tried to relax.

Bit by bit the early customers filled the cafe and John and Tilda had much to do. But in between he caught her eye and her friendly smile and he couldn't resist smiling back, happy to have found a friend who understood without words.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to all the wonderful comments I got so far (and again, _crypticnotions_) !

* * *

**Chapter four: Harold (the beginning of the storm)**

Harold was looking forward to a relaxing Friday evening, and he waited impatiently for his last customer to leave the shop. He was anticipating a good meal - a take-away order from the Thai restaurant he passed on his way home - a good bottle of red wine, and an antiquarian book he had been expecting for over two months. Even Caroline had just come downstairs, ready for the evening and waiting for Tom to pick her up. Henry had taken Bear for a long evening walk, so everything was perfectly arranged for the next few hours.

The customer came back from the other room with a smile on his face.

"I made a decision - finally," he said.

"Of course, Mr. Miller. Which will it be then? The porcelain figure or the silver-plated platter?"

Harold emerged from behind the desk and followed Mr. Miller into the next room where the glass cabinets stood, and opened one of them with a key from his large key-ring.

Harold waited a minute, then he asked politely: "Well, which one do you think your wife would prefer?"

"I think I'll try the porcelain figure..." Mr. Miller answered.

"I am sure Mrs. Miller will be quite delighted," Harold encouraged. He picked up the fragile porcelain horse, closed and locked the glass cabinet again and returned to the big desk, where he carefully wrapped the present in lots of paper and put it into one of the shop's blue gift boxes adorned with a brightly-colored bow. He handed the box to Mr. Miller, who looked happily at the gift and placed his credit card on the table.

Mr. Miller left the shop at last - after once again thanking Harold for his wonderful help - and Harold changed the sign from "Yes, we're open" to "Sorry, we're closed". Flipping the metallic sign was one of his favorite moments as it signified the structure of his life nowadays: to begin with work in the morning and to end it in the evening. No more computer sessions throughout the night - he had stayed completely away from computers so far. No emails, no internet, no electronic devices - not even a mobile phone.

An ancient telephone in his house - that actually still worked - was the only thing that connected him to the outside world and he kept it only for Catherine to call him if Mary, the other senior employee, had one of her migraines and couldn't make it to work. Instead he spent his free time reading - which he enjoyed immensely - with a glass of good wine next to him. Of course he especially indulged in art books, since he needed that background knowledge for his job.

He often bought his groceries in a nearby shop on his way home, and it took barely a month before all of his special orders were known and promptly fulfilled - like Sencha-green tea leaves and a special dog food he wanted for Bear.

The daily walks had gotten him into better shape and made his limping a little bit easier, and the reduced pain spared him some of his painkillers. Although the past haunted him every night, he had time to breathe and recover during the day while working. And in keeping busy with the demands of his customers he had no time for dwelling on the past. He slipped into his role and tried to perform it as well as he could.

While taking a final inventory of the store's artwork, he missed a nearly hysterical Henry who entered the shop through the backdoor, leaving Bear and the other dogs outside with his friend.

"Henry, is everything all right?" Catherine asked quietly, seeing Henry in such a state.

"Catherine, I think I may have done something wrong. Bear…he didn't… he wouldn't even…it took me over five minutes..." Henry babbled, clearly agitated.

"Please calm down, Henry. What are you saying? Did something happen to the dog?"

Henry took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, Bear is fine. But something happened."

A questioning look was all Henry needed to continue.

"He is the most well-behaved dog I know, but when we passed this cafe on our walk he went crazy - he pulled at the leash and he barked like he has never done before. Then he whimpered and wanted to go into the cafe, but it was closed. I really yanked on the leash, but Bear obviously didn't want to leave. It was as if he had caught the scent of someone in there. Finally a woman came outside and asked me about him while I tried to calm him down and get him away. She told me she was the only person in there, that the staff gone home and that there was no dog inside. So it must be the scent of a person that got him so agitated? I don't know."

Henry finished his story with an unhappy look.

"Do you think I should tell...? Nothing more happened after that, afterwards Bear was the well-behaved dog that he always is. But I'm not sure that I can keep walking Bear after this incident, even though I would love to…"

Normally Harold just minded his own business and stayed in the front of the shop when Catherine was talking about personal matters, either on the phone or face to face with her best friend Claudia, but this conversation had captured his attention and he walked back to where they were talking.

_"Where?"_ was his simple - yet very determined - question.

Would there be a chance for him now to find John? It could only have been John that Bear had discovered, after all. John…all of his longing came to the surface. To see him again! To talk, to…

Harold stopped himself right there.

Catherine and Henry turned around, both puzzled by his sudden appearance.

"I said, where?" Harold repeated emphatically.

"The cafe?" Henry stammered, not sure exactly what Harold wanted from him.

"Yes, if that's where the incident happened?"

Henry just nodded, perplexed.

"The name of the cafe?" Harold insisted, ignoring Catherine's questioning look.

"Tilda's Café, in Brooklyn..."

Before he would have simply done a quick search on the internet, but that wasn't possible under the current situation so he pressed the subject.

"And the address?"

Henry shook his head. I was just walking by with Bear when it happened. I guess it must be somewhere around the park?"

Harold closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. Over six months had passed since they had gone their separate ways, one or two days more wouldn't matter. He would find John himself, with Bear's help.

Catherine had watched his reaction and quickly realized how important this information was to Harold.

"Tom can look it up for you on his GPS when he arrives, okay?"

Harold was pleasantly touched by her offer - and extremely anxious for the information.

"Thank you so much, Catherine. It's greatly appreciated."

Tom arrived just in time to catch the last comment.

"Appreciated?" he said with a smirk when Catherine turned to him.

"We need your help to find Tilda's Café in Brooklyn. Would you mind checking the navigation system on your cell phone? It's urgent," she added.

Tom looked surprised but reached for the phone.

"Sure, if someone wouldn't mind telling me what's so special about this café?"

"That's where Bear..." Henry began, but was cut short by Catherine.

"I think there is someone important there."

Harold blushed a little, surprised by Catherine's quickly-drawn conclusion, but on the other hand happy that she understood his persistence. "Shall we take you there?" she asked.

Harold wanted to say yes with all of his heart, but it was Henry who answered instead.

"It's closed right now." He shrugged. "Sorry."

Harold forced a smile. "Never mind. Thank you."

For a moment he was so confused that he almost left without some very important items.

"Wait!" Catherine shouted after him. "You left your key on the table. And Bear is here too, if you'd like to take him with you."

She went after him, pushing the key into his hand and smiling.

"Go check the café out. I don't want to see you before lunch tomorrow…"

Harold was overwhelmed by her sympathy but simply shook his head.

"Thank you Catherine, but it is not as…romantic as you imagine. So please, leave it alone."

"It is not?"

Catherine raised an eyebrow but she let him go without any further comment, and Harold took Bear's leash and began walking away.

Harold was torn and he knew that he needed to think things through. It was perhaps a good thing that the café was closed, and that it had prevented him from acting on his first impulse.

To be honest, he wasn't quite sure how to face John again. Would it be too big of a risk to their new identities?

Moreover, he wasn't sure _how_ to approach John's new life. What if he had found someone new to share it with? Working in a café included the opportunity to meet many, many new people. He was certainly aware of John's charming, gorgeous appearance and of the impact that he had on people.

Harold wasn't sure that he could be content with just friendship anymore. And there it was. The heart of it all. He had finally admitted to himself that his longing for John exceeded anything they had shared before. He wanted _more_.

Harold stopped right in the middle of his hasty walk and brought Bear to a halt as well, shaken to the core at how _strong_ this longing inside of him had become.

At first he had recognized a true feeling of loss for a friend who had walked beside him through good times and bad. Over time of course he had realized that this feeling had grown into something deeper that wouldn't leave him alone. But when had longing become wanting - not just of the soul but also of the body?

He shook his head, unsure how to proceed - and that uncertainty left him frozen in his tracks.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to _Mamahub_ who urged me to bring our boys together!

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**Chapter five: Bear "storms" in**

John survived Friday. He tried to be as agreeable as he could, because his world seemed a bit brighter today. Maybe a little patience was all that was needed. He knew he was good at it, but just _waiting _to see Harold again seemed to be wearing him down.

He went home after his shift, took a nap and even managed to be at the Rocket Bar before the others arrived. And this time he enjoyed the conversation and laughter with the team while gossiping - always in a friendly way - about the café's special customers.

John was totally unprepared the next morning however, when a young boy entered the café with a Belgian Malinois at his side. The dog saw him first and strained at the leash, barking and going wild. He finally jumped at John over the counter, pulling him down and licking his face, and John - having immediately recognized Bear - was overwhelmed by his emotions _and_ what it meant that the dog had found him.

He felt like he could laugh and cry at the same moment.

Brian's worried face came immediately into sight.

"Are you okay?"

Then he turned and yelled at the stunned young man next to him.

"Would you please get your dog under control?"

"I am so sorry, it all just happened so fast. Normally he is such a well-behaved dog…"

The flushed young man went behind the counter and tried in vain to pull Bear back.

"Bear! Bear?"

John composed himself. One short command in Dutch and Bear laid down obediently.

"That's the dog!"

Tilda's smiling face appeared as well, and John stood up.

"It's all right. He knows me."

John looked into the many smiling faces: Tilda's - for instinctively knowing that happiness was already back with him; Brian's - for finally connecting the dog with John; and Henry's - for realizing (since one word had been enough to calm a wild Bear) that _this tall man_ mustbe the person that Catherine had instructed him to find.

"Coffee?" John asked all around and smiled broadly, while still petting the excited dog's head.

Tilda, realizing that she was needed back at work, turned around and took Brian with her in order to give John some space.

Bear had found him! And where Bear was, Harold would be! John's heart began to sing like never before.

Henry had been sent by Catherine. She had watched for some time and realized that Harold had _not_ set a single foot in the direction of the café, but she was certain that his hesitation was a worry of the heart, and she had prepared Henry in advance.

So when John politely asked after the dog's owner Henry told him without hesitation how he had come to know Bear and where he could find his owner - a quiet, knowledgeable man working at the "Arts" shop in Staten Island today until 8pm.

John could hardly wait until his shift ended but he did so nonetheless, feeling obliged to Tilda. Afterwards he hurried home and took a shower, and though still tired from the night before, his emotions were so high that it was all done in minutes.

He _longed_ to see Harold so strongly that he decided to go directly to the shop, even though it was no more than 6pm. He changed subway lines twice, but finally turned the corner to the street where the "Arts" shop was located and…yes!

He watched Harold from the opposite side of the street.

He could only imagine _how_ Harold would react upon seeing him, so he stood there for some minutes collecting himself. But there was no hesitation in him when at last he conquered the street and entered the shop, his heart pounding wildly.

A fine collection of art pieces, presented in a sophisticated ambience; the air smelled of wood and polish and the light scent of lavender…

He should have known that Bear would be with Harold. He heard the dog bark loudly and jump from somewhere inside the shop to land right at his feet, where he sat down and wagged his tail happily.

And there _he_ was, turning around in surprise and stopping in his tracks when he recognized his former partner.

John took a step closer and smiled, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Hello."

His heart was _still_ beating fast.

Harold was too stunned for words and simply stared back at him. John took another step in his direction.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." Harold had finally composed himself. "I am."

They just stood there gazing at each other, taking each other in, not yet ready to speak.

Catherine showed up just then, but got no reaction from either man. The dog's behavior said it all though, lying very quietly at the feet of the tall, handsome man in jeans and a white shirt.

She watched them both, regarding each other with so much emotion that there could be no doubt that this was the man from the café. No doubt at all.

Her voice brought them back to reality.

She walked directly towards John, smiling and with her hand outstretched.

"I'm Catherine, the shop's owner - and you must be the man from Tilda's Café. I'm very pleased to meet you at last."

John smiled and introduced himself, liking her firm handshake immediately. But how had Catherine come to know who he was - and that he worked at Tilda's? And _why_ hadn't Harold come to look for him there? But these were questions for later…

Still smiling, Catherine turned back to Harold.

"I'm handling the closing tonight. Would you and Bear like to take the evening off?"

Harold could only nod, and then he looked over at John.

"I'll be back in a minute."

"Bear and I will wait outside."

John smiled at Catherine once again and left the shop, the dog by his side.

When Harold joined him outside, neither man had the courage to embrace the other one, so they just began walking down the street together, with Harold leading the way.

"My house is not far away - dinner?"

John simply couldn't resist.

"_Whatever_ you want."

They walked a little in silence, with John still pondering Catherine's words. Finally he worked up his courage and asked Harold straightway - how could he have _known_ where John was all this time without ever coming to see him?

Harold stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and lowered his eyes. A long pause followed.

"You see…part of me always wanted to find you. Please believe me."

He sighed, still not sure how much of his feelings would be wise to reveal.

"The other part had doubts and…"

"Doubts? About what?" John interrupted, the frustration clear in his voice.

"Isn't it obvious? I didn't want to risk our lives again. Surely you understand that."

Harold continued walking, still unable to look John in the eyes.

It took some seconds but then John followed slowly with Bear - while drawing a bitter conclusion.

"So you would have let me wait forever if Catherine hadn't intervened?"

This time Harold turned and faced him, and took a long, deep breathe.

"If you say so, yes."

To let John believe he didn't care was much safer than risking their friendship over his foolish romantic notions, he thought sadly.

But John had noticed his hesitation and pressed on.

"I only believe half of that. Truth is, you may have thought about the risks - as I did also, by the way - but there's _more_ going on here. What is it that you _don't_ want me to know?

A disconcerted John stepped closer and hustled him around the corner to a dark alley, between a collection of garbage cans. He bowed his head and looked into Harold's eyes.

Bear laid down patiently, as if he knew what was to come.

"So?"

Harold averted his eyes. This was definitely _not_ a romantic place to confess his feelings to John.

"I wasn't sure if I should intrude on your life at the café. Surely you know a lot of people now and…"

"Just stop right there. I thought above all else we were friends, and no matter what…"

"We are." Harold said simply, and then he added with sudden courage:

"That's _why_."

For a moment John didn't trust his ears.

"Wait, I don't understand…"

But Harold had already turned away with a melancholy look and was walking back toward the sidewalk. It was just as he had feared: John thought of him as a _friend_ - and nothing more.

But suddenly John _did _understand, and he placed a gentle hand on Harold's shoulder.

"Please..." he said desperately.

Harold stopped and John circled around him, looking directly into his eyes.

"Don't go," he whispered.

And softly, very softly, he took Harold's face in his hands, lowered his head and kissed him - just a light touch of their lips, but it was enough to coax a gentle moan out of Harold.

It was all the encouragement John needed.

He deepened the kiss, lips on lips tenderly gracing. Open mouths, tips of tongues that touched, first tracing and then dancing.

Both men were overwhelmed by their _longing_ for each other, finally admitted in this kiss.

It was Harold who finally broke the kiss and took a step back, leaving John breathless.

"We are in the middle of the street," he murmured.

John could only smile at the self-conscious comment.

"Dinner first?" he asked, trying to soothe his nervous friend.

Harold nodded and smiled back at him.

"There's an excellent Thai restaurant down the street with take-away."

And to leave absolutely no doubt about his hopes for the evening, he added:

"I would be more than honored to welcome you into my home."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **The final chapter is dedicated to _scully1138_ who encouraged me in every way!

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This is the Rinch part. Don't like, don't read! - Otherwise, enjoy!

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**Chapter six: Taken by storm**

When Harold and John arrived at Harold's old house they were hungry - but not only for food. Nevertheless they first had dinner…

While Harold was making preparations for their meal John made a quick inspection of the house, feeling his friend's spirit everywhere, but especially in the library filled with books. Bear accompanied him at first but soon got bored and returned to his bed near the kitchen door, sensing his master's thoughts to be elsewhere.

After dinner and a glass of Harold's good wine, they went into the library and John listened happily as Harold talked about his job and art in general. He felt easy for the first time since their separation, simply from having Harold back in his life once again.

He looked at him devotedly and Harold returned the look, falling silent.

John set down his glass and closed the distance between them.

Smiling at Harold he kissed him again - kissed his soft, warm lips with no hesitation. Shy yet daring, Harold returned his kisses - kisses that felt so wonderful they sent his heart racing - and soon John was fighting for control of his own emotional _storm_.

"Let me make love to you," he whispered, his voice low in Harold's ear.

John's slow, shaking fingers traced the line of Harold's jaw, lingered over his skittering pulse and found the trembling curve of his lower lip. Harold's breath shuddered unevenly at this burning touch - all the unspoken longing, all the unspoken love.

He no longer worried that John knew how much he cared - he was certain it was obvious in his body's every response.

Harold closed his eyes and let the feelings overwhelm him: John's caressing hands on his body, guiding him into the bedroom and undressing him with so much tenderness that he couldn't see, but could deeply feel in every touch.

John made him comfortable on the bed and slipped in behind him after quickly undressing himself. Harold felt his hot, strong body - the taut muscles and the smooth skin - press against him, and heard John moan at the contact. John's cheek rested on his hair, his breath warm in his ear.

Harold gasped at every touch, realizing that this passion within him had only been waiting for John in order to be freed - kisses down his spine and backside that made him shiver like never before, John's tender hands on his inner thighs and _finally _along his aching length.

Harold throbbed and couldn't prevent another moan from escaping his trembling lips as heat stabbed deep inside him, and he fought against reaching completion too soon.

Sensing this, John reached for his hand and unfolded his clenched fist, pressing Harold's hand to his chest and covering it with his own. Harold breathed deeply and tried to steady his hammering pulse.

"I can't hold out…much longer…let me…care for you too…"

"Later," John whispered in his wonderful, hoarse voice, moving gently against Harold once again.

"I've…longed for you. I…need you. I've waited…for so long. _Trust_ me."

Hearing those words Harold let go of everything, and surrendered in passion to John.

When he awoke a little while later he found himself cradled in John's arms, the other man gazing down at him.

"Feeling better now?" he said with a warm smile.

Harold studied him for a long moment, keenly aware of the feeling of his body snuggled against John's, his partner's masculine scent all around and sheltering him. Overwhelmed by his fondest desires coming true, he let his fingers trace a little path down John's chest, exploring.

John's breath quickened.

"One question," he spoke quietly.

"Yes?"

Harold stopped and looked once again at his friend - now lover. Who would have thought that all of his _longings_ would ultimately be reflected in John?

"How long would it have taken before you decided to come to the café? Another month? A year?"

"Oh..." Harold sighed. "The truth is - I simply don't know."

"And here I thought you were the bravest person in the world."

John was teasing him and - realizing that this question might stay unanswered between them - he was more grateful than ever for Bear, Catherine's intervention and Tilda's help.

"I know." Harold admitted. "It's just that…I lack your courage to act_,_ to _do_ what's right in the right moment."

"But now you certainly do…"

John moaned as Harold continued to let his hands travel down John's body. Harold looked into the steel-blue eyes and his heart skipped a beat at seeing so much emotion there. This time _he_ kissed John, their tongues teasing and their breaths mingling, enjoying the jolts of fire the kisses provoked in the other man.

John pulled him close, his body hard and his heart hammering as heat shot through him. He _desired_ so much, kisses being only the beginning. His body ached, burned with the need to claim Harold and to be claimed in return, to make sure that Harold was his and his alone.

He began to caress Harold's body again, but was caught by his wrists.

"Let me...this time."

He stilled his hands and yielded to Harold, feeling himself tremble as Harold's tongue took a gentle sweep across his skin, tracing down to _his_ heated length. Overcome, John understood his intention and tried to summon the strength to say that he didn't need to do that, but Harold's tenderness made him pause. His soft touch and careful tongue held the promise of both heaven and torture, and John could only submit as his aching member was treated with so much fondness. He shuddered and groaned, his head flung back as waves of pleasure coursed through him.

At last he reached down and gently freed himself.

"Enough."

John hardly knew his own voice, throaty from restraint, as he drew Harold up to face him, yet he caught a flash of uncertainty in his lover's eyes.

"Together…" was all he could whisper against Harold's lips while kissing him again.

He thrust his body against Harold's, arousing them both wildly as all control was lost…

There were no words, only trembling sighs and soft murmurings as they made love. They both surrendered to the heat of the moment at last, their bodies entwined.

They were quiet for a long time, but Harold had one final question on his mind.

"Will you stay with me?"

John looked at him fondly.

"Do you really believe that I won't?"

They both knew the answer already, but Harold sighed.

"I just need to hear the words," he said softly.

John smiled and kissed him tenderly.

"I'm with you, Harold. For whatever time we have left, I'll be with you."

THE END


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